


Just One Night

by NoOneKnowsIWriteThis



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Episode: s05e15 By Inferno's Light, Episode: s05e16 Doctor Bashir I Presume, Garak doesn't trust happiness, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, POV Elim Garak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 11:43:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11554506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoOneKnowsIWriteThis/pseuds/NoOneKnowsIWriteThis
Summary: Set post By Inferno's Light and during Doctor Bashir I Presume. Bashir tries to be responsible about things, it doesn't work.-“Sorry. Sorry.” Bashir pulled away. Garak released his grip. “I shouldn't have… You just… I'm not thinking straight.”“I understand,” Garak soothed. “You wouldn't have kissed me if everything was fine.”





	Just One Night

They'd done it. They'd escaped the prison camp and saved the station. Bashir’s Changeling doppelganger had burned up in the sun and the real Bashir would soon be on his way to a well-deserved shower and sleep.

The man in question was ordering the two Klingons to rest in the runabout’s meager living compartment until they could get to the station. Muttering about internal bleeding and how Worf was lucky they'd gotten access to the runabout’s medical kit when they had all the while.

Garak silently piloted the ship, taking care of that concern at least. Bashir collapsed into the chair beside him, clearly exhausted.

“You should eat something,” Garak commented, eager to fill the silence that would otherwise stretch between them. “If I know you, you were giving some of your rations to Tain and Martok, putting them ahead of yourself like the Federation bleeding-heart you are.”

That drew a weak chuckle from the man. “You should follow your own advice,  _ doctor, _ ” Bashir teased lightly back. Then he let out a sigh. “Unfortunately, right now, I'm not sure I can even stand.” It was meant as a joke, but Garak could clearly observe the truth in it.  The doctor looked like he could fall asleep at any moment. 

Garak smiled at him. “Can you take the helm?” he asked. Bashir nodded. The craft had a course laid in; it basically piloted itself unless they were to run into an unforeseen obstacle. Garak stood and made his way to the ship’s replicator.

“Is this chicken soup?” Bashir asked curiously as Garak handed him a bowl. 

“Yes, I remembered your explanation of human comfort foods and thought it would be appropriate,” Garak explained. “And considering how long you've been on prison rations I thought it best to avoid anything too rich.”

Bashir grinned at him. It was tired, but it was a grin nonetheless. “Garak, you're a marvel.” Garak accepted the compliment with a smile and sat to partake in his own meal.

This time Garak let the silence linger, watching Bashir bolt down his food even faster than the hurried manner he'd been prone to previously. When he finished,  Bashir leaned back with a sigh.

“That hit the spot.” He closed his eyes, his breathing leveling out. Garak thought he was asleep, until Bashir cracked an eye open and turned to face him. 

“I can put the dishes away,” he offered. “I'm feeling a bit better now. Food helped.” Garak examined him. The doctor’s face did seem a bit brighter, his expression a bit less tired. He nodded and handed over his own empty bowl.

Bashir gave him a lopsided smile, clearly happy to be doing something. “My adrenaline wore off,” he explained, crossing to the replicator. “Humans get a burst of energy in response to life threatening situations, but afterwards we feel exhausted.” Bashir’s assurances that he felt better were immediately undercut by him stumbling on his walk back. Garak rose and caught him before he could smash his face against the control panels. He had one arm above Bashir’s elbow and the other at his waist.

“Careful, doctor,” Garak cautioned.

Bashir blinked once in surprise then smiled sheepishly as his free arm came up to Garak’s shoulder for balance. His eyes flickered quickly down to Garak’s lips. Then, just as quickly, Bashir leaned in, his hand cradling the back of Garak’s head, and brought them into a kiss. Garak barely had time to respond to the warm mouth pressed against his own before Bashir drew back, frantically apologizing.

“Sorry. Sorry.” He pulled away. Garak released his grip. “I shouldn't have… You just… I'm not thinking straight.”

“I understand,” Garak soothed. “You wouldn't have kissed me if everything was fine.” Perhaps a touch of self pity colored his tone because Bashir’s expression turned concerned instead of embarrassed. 

“That's not what I meant,” he protested earnestly.

For a moment, Garak almost believed him. “Of course,” he replied dryly, turning to return to the helm. 

“No. Garak!” Bashir grabbed his shoulders turning him back. “That's not what I meant!” The thinness of his face combined with the shadows of his stubble and the dark circles to somehow make Bashir’s eyes larger and more entrancing. Garak found himself trapped by their silent pleas.

“Really,” Garak said softly. It was said flatly, not a question. But it  _ was _ an invitation.

“I have just spent a month imprisoned, sometimes in solitary. You just lost Tain. We are not in the right place to be making important decisions.”

“Ah,” Garak replied, his eyes narrowing, “so you want to avoid making a mistake.” 

Bashir huffed. “Being with you would not be a mistake,” he protested. “But there are details and concerns that we need to discuss, and frankly I'm too exhausted to have that discussion right now.” He cautiously raised a hand to caress Garak’s cheek. “I need a shower and a good night's rest and a few days for my body to register that I'm not about to be pulled away by some Jem’Hadar before I'll be up to it.” Bashir’s lips twisted into a concerned frown. “Besides which your father just died, and you've spent the last few days under extreme duress. You're worn out too, even if you won't admit it.”

Garak let out a sigh. Bashir was right. All he wanted to do was collapse into bed, although he wouldn't have objected to the bed in question being Bashir’s.

Bashir’s lips twitched upwards, not quite becoming a smile at his victory. “Let's wait a week. Then we'll have dinner in my quarters and discuss everything that we need to discuss.” His eyes were warm and inviting.

Garak was very tempted to ignore the doctor's advice and give in to the opportunity before him, but Bashir was right: neither of them were thinking straight at the moment. Besides, Garak suspected that, despite all his protestations, Bashir’s interest in him was a mere passing fancy. Waiting a week would give any momentary infatuation time to wear off and prevent Garak from expecting more than Bashir could give.

“Very well,” he agreed, stepping out of Bashir’s grip. Bashir smiled and let him go.

-

Garak had fully expected Bashir to call off their planned dinner as soon as he'd had time to think, so he wasn’t surprised when Bashir approached him in his shop to explain that he couldn’t make their dinner.

“Of course, doctor,” Garak said pleasantly. “I understand completely.”

Bashir glared at him, apparently Garak’s false pleasantries weren’t enough to mask his hurt from the doctor’s piercing gaze.

“ _ Garak, _ ” he said firmly, “I’m not cancelling.” Garak raised a skeptical eye ridge. “I’m  _ here _ to  _ reschedule. _ ” Garak kept his expression impassive, causing Bashir to let out a sigh. His entire posture shifted from determination to surrender. “Look, if you’re not interested, just tell me. Please?” Garak weighed his options. He could end this whole affair now, before it got out of hand. Or...he could accept the doctor’s interest as genuine and give in to temptation.

He took a step forward, crowding into Bashir’s space. Bashir held firm, watching him curiously. Garak slowly leaned in and found his lips met by Bashir’s. Bashir’s mouth opened slightly and Garak’s tongue entered, exploring. They remained lost in their passion until they eventually pulled apart to speak.

“Does that answer your question?” Garak teased.

A brilliant flush spread across Bashir’s face. “Quite,” he replied, smiling.

“Are you sure you have to reschedule, my dear?” Garak purred, trailing his finger across Bashir’s shoulder, drawing a shudder out of the other man. “Surely Doctor Zimmerman’s work doesn’t keep you  _ that  _ busy.”

Bashir let out a regretful sigh. “As much as I would rather spend the evening with you, I'm afraid I can't. My  _ parents _ ,” the word was filled with a surprising mix of venom and resignation for the doctor, “are here.”

Garak raised an eye ridge. “If their presence displeases you so much, why did you invite them?” When in doubt, Garak fell back on what he knew best: gathering information. 

“I didn't,” Bashir said tightly. Clearly there were some unpleasant feelings between him and his parents, and he wasn't trying particularly hard to hide it. Either Bashir didn't care who knew about his strained family relations or he didn't care if Garak knew. “Doctor Zimmerman did,” he explained. “For the project. He's conducting interviews with the important people in my life.” There was an undisguised eye roll that indicated how Bashir felt about that idea. 

“And yet he’s neglected to interview me,” Garak commented wryly, hoping to draw a smile out of the other man. Bashir was at his most attractive when he was either happy or in the middle of an intense debate. This frustrated annoyance dulled Bashir’s eyes and muted his expressions.

He was rewarded by a mere upward quirk of Bashir’s lips. Clearly Bashir was more upset than Garak had suspected.

“A tragic oversight, I'm sure,” Bashir replied with a hint of amusement. Then he let out a sigh. “I have to go. Hopefully my parents will be gone in a few days and we can finally have that dinner.” Some of the spark returned to Bashir’s eyes as anticipation.

Garak smiled. “I'm looking forward to it,” he said honestly. 

Bashir answered with a grin and a quick peck on the cheek before leaving. 

-

Garak hadn’t expected to see Bashir for another week at least, so he was taken off-guard when, just a couple nights after their conversation and passionate kiss in his shop, Bashir appeared at his door looking worn down.

“Doctor,” he greeted. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Bashir failed to produce a smile, only managing an exhausted look instead. “May I come in, Garak?”

Garak stepped aside, issuing a wordless invitation. Bashir collapsed gracelessly onto the couch. Garak offered to fetch him a drink, but when this offer was declined, he sat on the couch beside his guest.

“I didn't want to do it this way,” Bashir said suddenly. “I was going to woo you carefully, I know I have a tendency to come on too strong.” He let out a regretful sigh. “But I'm afraid I'm short on time now.”

“Are you dying, doctor?” Garak asked, puzzled. This was going in a completely different direction than what he'd expected from their interaction in his shop.

“No,” Bashir answered with a weary smile. “Though I might as well be, since my life is essentially over.”

Garak frowned. “I don't understand.”

Bashir let out a bitter, ugly laugh. “I suppose it was too much to hope you'd already heard.” His expression shifted to something dark and self-loathing. “When I was a child, I wasn't very bright, so my parents took me to Adigeon Prime and had me genetically enhanced. Never mind that it's dreadfully illegal in the Federation, they had the brilliant son they wanted. Of course, I added my own crimes by becoming a doctor and joining Starfleet, both careers forbidden to the rare augment who isn't immediately thrown into an institute at the first sign of enhancement.” He flicked his bitter gaze at Garak. “And now all my lies have been uncovered, and I'll likely be thrown in prison for the rest of my life so I can't become the next Khan Noonien Singh.” Garak stayed silent, both taking the information in and formulating his own response.

Bashir seemed to take his silence as a dismissal and moved to leave, but Garak caught him, lightly holding his wrist. 

“My dear,” he said gently, as if trying to soothe a caged animal. “Why did you come to my quarters tonight? What were you looking for?”

Bashir’s expression collapsed into a vulnerable mix of sorrow and regret. “I didn't want to leave without seeing you. I…” He hesitated, his eyes nervously taking in Garak’s expression. “I love you, Garak.”

Garak said nothing.

“I-I didn't mean to… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have- Not when… with all this…” Bashir apologized nervously.

“Oh my dear Julian,” Garak said softly, pulling the other into a loving embrace. Bashir’s breath shuddered against his ear.

“I wish we had more time,” Bashir whispered, wrapping his arms around Garak’s back. “I'm going to resign from Starfleet tomorrow morning and they'll likely take me away shortly after.”

“Then we should use what time we have.”

Bashir pulled back to examine Garak’s face. “What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled.

Garak smiled at him. “My dear, if this is the last time we'll ever see each other, wouldn't you rather do something worthy of that distinction?”

Bashir looked at him, tilting his head slightly as he considered this. Then all at once he surged forward, pressing his lips to Garak’s with the desperation of a drowning man gasping for air. Garak kissed back but let Bashir take the lead.

After a moment and an eternity, Bashir pulled back. His hands trembled as he began to remove his uniform. Garak reached up and stilled Bashir’s hands with his own.

“Don't force yourself to do something you don't want,” Garak told him.

“I want this,” Bashir insisted firmly. “I want you.”

Garak smiled reassuringly, then with practiced skill helped remove the jacket and shirt from his lover's body. As the clothes fell away, Bashir smiled at him with the confidence of a man who knew he was attractive, although there was still a bit of anxiety in his expression. Garak hoped that his open look of desire and admiration would at least soothe away some of Bashir’s fears.

A coy expression appeared on Bashir’s face as he slowly slid a finger across his collarbone and down his sternum, tracing a path for Garak’s eyes to follow. When he reached the waistband of his pants, Bashir chose not to continue, instead he brought that finger to Garak’s chest, toying with the edge of his tunic’s neckline. Garak took the hint, swiftly undoing the fastenings and then slowly peeling the garment open. He was rewarded with a look of lusty appreciation and Bashir’s hands hovering over his bare chest.

Warm brown eyes silently asked permission, which Garak granted with a nod. Bashir ran his hands across Garak’s chest, charting out the peaks and valleys of his ridges and scales, noting which spots drew particular noises from his companion. He leaned down bringing their mouths together for more kisses as Garak reached up to do some exploration of his own. Bashir let out a quick hiss as Garak’s cold hands touched his exposed skin, but it was swallowed by the kiss and neither of them drew back.

It was Bashir who eventually broke the kiss, smiling at Garak with half-lidded eyes as he pulled away.

“Perhaps we should relocate to the bedroom?” he suggested, pointedly looking at his leg, which was still on the floor for balance.

“I think that would be for the best,” Garak agreed, giving Bashir his best sultry smile.

With a grace he rarely displayed, Bashir rose from the couch and offered Garak his hand to help him up. Garak took it and let his tunic fall to the ground with Bashir’s jacket and shirt as they made their way to the bedroom.

-

Garak woke briefly when Bashir was leaving, long enough to be on the receiving end of a passionate and somewhat desperate kiss, but not long enough that he didn’t immediately fall asleep again once the other man had left.

He decided that he would sleep late. After all, Bashir had kept him up half the night trying to fit the culmination of years of longing into a single evening. He could use a few more hours of stolen sleep before he wanted to even think about facing the day, especially considering that he would have to face it without a chance of Bashir’s company.

Garak was awoken by the door chime chirping to announce a visitor. Puzzled, Garak rolled out of bed and pulled on a robe, before padding over to the door. It slid open to reveal Julian Bashir, looking crisp and polished and surprisingly happy. Garak blinked in confusion.

“Hello, Garak,” Bashir greeted softly. “May I come in?”

“By all means.” Garak stepped aside, allowing Bashir to enter. “You seem to be feeling better,” he commented, drawing a relieved smile from Bashir. 

“Yes. It looks like I'll be keeping my post after all.”

Garak titled his head, curious. “How ever did you manage that?”

Bashir’s expression fell slightly, becoming conflicted. “I didn't. My father made a deal before I even got to Sisko’s office.” Garak simply nodded. Bashir let out a sigh and continued, “Anyway, I'm here to talk about last night. It meant a lot to me, and now that I'll be staying on the station, I was hoping…” He smiled shyly. “Would you still like to have that dinner?”

“My dear Julian,” Garak answered, barely able to speak above a whisper. “That would make me happy beyond words.”


End file.
